


Almost Heaven

by i_amthatis



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, M/M, Songfic, this basically counts a songfic doesnt it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16121138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amthatis/pseuds/i_amthatis
Summary: Alex Smith sits in his backyard. His mysterious new neighbor plays music.





	Almost Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the music from [this post](http://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/175088895923/take-me-home-country-roads-by-john-denver-except)

The beer in his can was almost getting warm, but it was the last of the six pack and Smith was trying to make the consistent buzz he’d had going all evening last. His citronella candle flickered a bit in the soft deep night breeze, specks of dirt floating in the clear melted wax, lazily drifting as the heat pulled them closer and then pushed them away from the wick. In the bushes sang crickets, mingling with the buzz of insects in the trees almost to the point it drowned out the hum of the old light bulb by the door, surrounded by moths.

He took another sip of beer. Should have bought more than just the six at the store, but it was far too late to go back out now. 

With a sigh he set the can on his table, and lurched off the faded lawn chair. The next load of laundry was well done, no sense putting it off any longer, especially if he wanted to have clean clothes for tomorrow night. The lingering heat from the day inside the house hit him, uncomfortable and stifling after the cool that had settled with the dark outside. Mechanically he dumped the wet jeans and half formal button down shirts into his basket. Change rattled in the bottom of the washer, and he cussed under his breath. So much for turning out the pockets. He always missed coins, there was hardly any point in bothering. The change went back into his pocket, and he hefted the heavy basket on one hip.  With difficulty he opened the door, fumbling against the breaking handles of his overburdened cheap laundry basket as it dug into him and he squeezed through the door back out to the patio. 

On his way past the table he grabbed his beer, carrying it with him as he wove through the sheets he’s hung up earlier. The makeshift clothesline he’d strung up in the backyard bowed under the weight of his assorted laundry. The dryer was out, again, and his landlord told him the absolute soonest a technician could come and look at it was next week. 

Out back of the house behind his someone had turned on a light, and a radio. It crackled, fuzz interspersed with almost distinct snippets of talking. Not tuned properly, much to Smith’s annoyance, and there was no one actually outside to fix it. With a frown he started pegging his trousers to the rope, trying to do it one and a half handed so he could finish the beer. He hadn’t seen anyone in the house since the couple with noisy children had moved out at the end of spring. It had always vaguely surprised him that all four people crammed into the tiny house that shared his back fence line. He wondered who lived there now.

As if on cue, the screen door creaked open with a twang of spring before slapping closed again. Smith peered over the line, the too short for his liking fence, and the slightly overgrown shrubs on the other side. The man who had appeared straightened, newly lit cigarette in his mouth. In the quiet, Smith could hear the clatter as the man set a lighter and cheap plastic ashtray on the metal table he had in on his own patio. He bent, disappearing from Smith’s line of sight. The radio resolved itself, settling on a station playing classic rock. Quiet but still distinct enough for Smith to make out, Glenn Frey sang about peaceful easy feelings. Must be on the ground, Smith considered as his neighbor’s bleached hair reappeared from behind the leaves’ obscurity. 

The tips of it seemed almost fluorescently bright in the dark, standing out in high contrast to the darker section of hair at the roots, and the shadows that marked eyes and cheekbones. He might as well have been a black and white photo, almost too large t-shirt blending into the night around them. The shirt was just a bit too loose, the folds a bit too pronounced as the man settled on his chair and raised his hands to tie back the long hair on top of his head, revealing close shaved sides. He took the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke up towards the few stars visible through the suburban light pollution. The hollows of his eyes were darker than Smith thought they should be, but maybe that was just a trick of the light. Either way the man was sitting in the chair like a dead weight, long line of his arm dangling out of Smith’s sight with just the hint of smoke coming from where his fingers held the cigarette. 

Smith realized he was staring when his neighbor took another drag; caught himself worrying his lip between his teeth and halfway to developing a full fledged fantasy involving him, his strange neighbor, and his newly cleaned sheets. Reproachfully he eyed the now empty beer can stuck in the similarly empty laundry basket. Maybe it was for the best he didn't have more alcohol around. Though if he did he could have offered the neighbor a beer.

There was something like companionship, Smith mused, in sitting silently in ones back yard while a neighbor did the same. Maybe it was the music. This sort of song always made Smith think of long rides in his Dad’s truck, and the enforced quiet that permeated them. Content to enjoy the night air, Smith picked up his phone. Automatically he checked his Facebook, Twitter. Nothing new this late at night, and he’d already caught up on the news cycle of the day. He read an article about a new species of lizard that one of his coworkers had mentioned last night and he’d left open in his browser for later. There weren’t enough pictures. Ross was likely asleep, but Smith hadn’t yet checked on their ongoing game. To his surprise, the ever distracted Ross had played a new word. “DICK” for 17 points. Classy.

Smith retaliated with an adjoined COC, sad in a way that his K wouldn’t count for the double points of Ross’s.

_ Now your dick can touch my cock forever _ he sent in the iMessage chat along with the play.

He smiled for a moment, before the temporary amusement of yet another dick joke with Ross wore off. With the fade of the amusement, Smith lost his desire to stare at a screen. He set the phone back on the table, and stared up into the black sky.

From the neighbor’s back yard an advertisement for a car dealership ended. The music Smith hadn’t noticed fading returned. He smiled a bit and closed his eyes as the unmistakable voice of John Denver floated across the shrubs. It didn’t matter how many times he heard this song, or the fact that he’d never even been to West Virginia. it still made him feel something. 

“ _ Dark and dusty, painted on the sky _

_ Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye _

_ Country roads, take me home…” _

Without thinking about it, he sang along, wishing he had his guitar out and wondering if after god knows how long he could still remember the chords. It had been way too long since he’d played anything. On the edge of his table his fingers tested out the progressions, bare toes tapping against the concrete of his patio. 

Before he knew it the song was over, fading out and into the beginning of a song he recognized but couldn’t place.

Smith started at the unexpected and jarringly loud clap of hands. Three staccato beats of applause. Smith shifted uncomfortably, self conscious of his less than great singing. The guy was probably mocking him. Smith’s cheeks burned, and he wondered if now might be the time to make a retreat into his house.

His neighbor sat back, dark eyes now watching Smith. Or at least Smith supposed they might be. He wasn’t staring up at the sky anymore. Smith cleared his throat, and picked himself up to cross his lawn. 

Propping his elbows against the metal pipe across the top of the chain link fence, Smith regarded the man watching him silently.

“You know that’s bad for you right?” Smith said when the silence became too much for him to bear. Goddamnit. Not the best way to make an acquaintanceship, but there was no going back now. 

“Yeah,” he said. Pointedly his neighbor took a long drag of his cigarette. “What of it?”

“Nothing,” Smith defended. “You’ve just been out here for a long time is all. Smoking.” 

Foot, meet mouth.  

Despite the obvious nature of Smith’s statement, the man’s brow furrowed in confusion. He picked up the pack of cigarettes on the little table beside him, inspecting it as if he didn’t believe what it was showing him.

“Guess so,” he sighed.

“Are you okay?” Smith rested his chin on his folded arms. Now that he was closer he could definitely see the dark circles under his neighbor’s eyes.

“Nice pipes.” 

“Excuse me?” The statement caught Smith off guard, completely jumping the rails of the subject that they had been on.

“Your singing. You have a good voice.”

“Thanks,” Smith felt himself blushing again, wanting to deflect and demure, but liking the praise too much to want it gone. 

The metal legs of his neighbor’s chair scraped, harsh and loud. Cigarette went to ash-tray, and his neighbor stretched, revealing too much of the waistband of boxers and trail of hair than Smith should have allowed himself to notice. Rather than turning off the radio, his neighbor simply unplugged it. The noise of the night was deafening in the absence of the music. 

“Hey, you should come over sometime, for dinner.” The words came out in a rush as Smith realized his neighbor was leaving. 

The man smiled, shaking his head a bit with a sigh.

“I mean it. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like a plate of home-made lasagna.”

“Alright. Another night,” he said pointedly, fingers already wrapped around the doorknob back into the house.

“I’ll see you later…” Smith trailed off.

“Trott.” 

“Goodnight, Trott.” The look of exasperation made Smith grin. Smith swore his neighbor’s mouth twitched in the hint of a smile, in the instant before he vanished into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this sitting as a draft for quite some time, and figured it ought to be wrapped up (if you can call this wrapped up).
> 
> Of course, I have many ideas about these two men and their lives, and the ways they intersect after this evening. Maybe someday I'll actually write them.


End file.
